


Fishbowl

by somaseur



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-25 05:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4948435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somaseur/pseuds/somaseur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick's been left to rot in ultramax-security prison, leaving the Galactic Federation free to turn Earth into a tourist trap. The Smith family are trying their best to fit in back home, when Morty gets on the wrong side of Federation officials.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

He can picture it like a movie in his head as he dreams – Earth, beautiful from above, takes up his whole view. The whorl of clouds that wrap around the surface ripple here and there as tourist buses full of aliens slip in and out of the atmosphere. Further back, a space station slowly orbits, so that visiting aliens can observe the little planet from space, eating poorly approximated ‘Earth’ food at hideously marked-up prices. Earth gets smaller and smaller, the moon whooshes past his field of view, and then Rick can see the whole solar system, planets spinning around the sun.

Further back, way back, until stars become blurs, and he’s outside the Milky Way. The galaxies reveal themselves, neat ovals of billions, trillions of glittering stars around a fiercely glowing centre. In this black space between galaxies, far from civilisation, looms the ultramax-security prison. A monstrous hull of metal in sharply angled Galactic Federation design, designed from the start to be intimidating. Inside are the most deadly and dangerous shits in the galaxy – enemies of the intergalactic police. Among their numbers are murderers, sure. War criminals, mob bosses. Terrorists.

Deep in the center of the prison hangs Rick Sanchez, rogue scientist, guilty of every crime the Federation has a name for, and a few things that the law has yet to catch up on. His mugshot has graced the Federation’s most wanted list for decades. He’s locked in place by his wrists and ankles, bound to one cell among hundreds, stacked up floor-to-ceiling, head-to-toe, in the cavernous interior filled with the worst in the universe.

He's woken with a moan as a long thin needle punches into his back from the cell, just left of his spine, injecting him with the exact amount of electrolytes, vitamins and nutrients his body needs to sustain itself. Any lingering pain was quickly drowned out by self-hatred. How fucking gone was he, that even in his dreams he couldn’t escape this place?

The metal slid slickly out of him, leaving him panting, unable to itch that dull ache that radiated from the invisible entry wound. Energy in, energy out, the second law of thermodynamics, all that bullshit. It was the biggest insult of all, in Ricks mind. He was just a cell in a battery here, reduced from person, to meat. The body heat of the prisoners was even recycled to help power the prison. The Federation were _humane_ after all. They didn’t kill their prisoners, not in body.

But Rick didn’t care about his body. They’re gristle and bone, chemistry – easily rebuilt, if you have the right equipment. But the mind… Rick has seen minds broken here. The hulking six-armed alien to his left gibbered to himself constantly when he wasn’t sleeping, decades of enforced stillness rotting his brain into a raw nerve, leaving him binary. Off or on. Silence or white noise chattering. Rick couldn’t decide if he was more annoyed by him – or terrified of becoming him.

He tried not to think about it too much.

This jail really was the kicker. With no outside stimulation, the only way for the mind to go was inwards. And Rick’s mind was the one fucked up place he never wanted to spend too much time in. He almost relished the moments they dragged him away for questioning. They really were his biggest fans, he would sneer at them, and they wanted to know _everything_. About his portal gun, his various inventions, the code to his safe. The whereabouts of his friends, the ones who escaped the wedding. (Squanchy had apparently killed dozens of the fuckers before commandeering one of their ships and vanishing. No trace.) Rick didn’t say shit, even as they kept asking.

Whatever, pain was a mental construct anyway. And nothing they did left any physical marks.

That itch was starting to bug him. He wriggled his back against the smooth surface of the cell, searching for a bit of friction, but everything was all so shiny and polished slippery. The Galactic Federation liked things to have a sheen to them. That’s probably why they thought they were the good guys. They were so goddamn _clean_.

The Federation would be crawling all over Earth right now, and no planet called _Dirt_ was going to manage to stay the same once the integration started. All sorts of alien tourists loved Earth, Rick had seen it play out in too many dimensions to count. They had good intentions – the civilians, at least, thought humans were cute, if a bit simple. In a dimension where the average IQ of Earth was a few points lower, humans found themselves in the unfortunate position of not quite being able to meet the Federation’s minimum requirements for intelligent life. They were downgraded to first class sentient life, and became, if Rick remembered correctly, quite a fashionable pet. Earth became a sort of _zoo_.

Fuck the Federation.

The governing body behind the Federation was more sinister. They had a harsh record of police brutality, with little regard for species they saw as lesser, and humans always, always, counted as lesser. If Rick and his friends defending planets caught under the iron rule of the Federation was _terrorism_ , then sure. They were terrorists. Birdperson preferred the term freedom fighter, the poor bastard. The poor fucking bastard.

But they cared about rules, and they'd promised to keep his family safe. That had to mean something, right?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and bookmarks, guys! I really wasn't expecting any this early in the story. I will try to update often! I hope you enjoy where this goes.

Earth changed a lot after joining the Galactic Federation. Buildings were modified to meet Federation standards, alien architecture was lowered down from the sky and dropped into place, all metal and glowy. And the tourists! They spilled out of the intergalactic airports in massive numbers. Earth’s economy was abruptly dwarfed by the tourism boom – human culture was a big draw, and everyone wanted to cash in.

For a few hours after school, Morty got a job as a server in a touristy restaurant, part of some galaxy-spanning franchise. The food was a weird amalgamation of every cuisine on the planet, shaped to fit popular alien tastes. Morty, face scrunched up, watched a jellylike bright-blue couple eat apple-pie with chopsticks by sort of shoving it through their outer layer, and tried to comprehend what he was seeing. Where were their taste-buds, even? Or was it more of a textural experience?

He was tapped on the shoulder and did a little jump, spinning around to see a spindly green alien with a bored expression, ‘MANAGER’ pinned to his uniform.

“O-o-oh! Hey boss!” he stuttered, snapping out of his daydream.

His manager was unimpressed by his leap to attention. “Standing around staring into space _again_ , kid?”

“I was, I’m, uhhh – sorry! I was just thinking about… um… digestion?”

His manager sighed and crossed his knobbly arms. He didn’t think much of human intelligence, and had, Morty had noticed, a low patience threshold. While cleaning up after hours, Morty had stumbled across his boss arguing down the phone in his office. Apparently the place wasn’t doing too great, or something. When he smashed down the phone and started waving his arms around, Morty quickly ducked his head and started furiously cleaning again.

“Get out there, kid,” he growled. The manager called every human who worked for him ‘kid’, even the little old lady pastry chef. “You’ve got a family seated in your section. Don’t make me chase you down all day, I’m not in the mood.”

Morty tugged the collar of his uniform. “Okay sir! Sorry again! I’ll get- I’ll go right over!”

He stumbled, grabbed a few menus, and walked towards his table, a family of giant wrinkly beetles.

* * *

Aliens were good tippers, if nothing else, although Morty was still getting used to the value of glupglups, a Galactic Federation currency that looked like little metal cubes with weird patterns on them that he guessed were numbers. He didn’t make crazy money or anything, but it was only an after-school job, and every little helped.

After Rick had left… things got weird, dynamics-wise, for his family. His dad, Jerry, was probably the happiest out of all of them, if Morty had to guess. Jerry was assigned the job of sorting wires or something for the Federation, that were used to make the robots that monitored people on the streets, dispensing pills, giving directions to tourists. Summer had changed more, and had been real distant at school lately, spending a lot of her time alone, studying the new curriculum. She was probably paranoid about her friends after Tammy had betrayed her trust so terribly.

His mom, Beth, had taken Rick’s abandonment the worst.

She’d quit her job and spent a lot of time inside a locked bathroom. When Morty had gone over once to knock on the door, he thought he’d heard her crying in there. She rarely left the house. Whenever she stepped outside, robots scanned her and loudly read out their diagnosis of depression, then started pestering her to take pills to make her happy. She stayed indoors more and more, as the town changed around them.

The sun was low in the sky when his shift was over, casting everything in pinks and purples. On his walk back home, Morty couldn’t help but wonder at the changes, how his own planet had become alien to him.

Sharp glowy metal structures had been dropped into place between existing buildings, sometimes pushing them to the side a little. Bright glowing signs in languages he didn’t understand. Robots clunking or rolling through the streets. And the aliens from other planets, all sorts, wandering around. Massive ones, short ones, transparent floaty ones, with extra appendages or crazy colours. The tourists took pictures, chattered loudly, and pointed at maps. Two tourists on a date or something were waving excitedly at every human they saw, and made lots of excited noises whenever they waved back.

“Look there, there, another one!”

They’d spotted Morty, and waved at him. Morty plastered on a smile and waved back, but he quickened his step.

* * *

“Hey son!” said Jerry, poking his head from the sofa when Morty shut the door behind him with a sigh. “Did you have fun at work?”

“Sure, dad, I guess,” said Morty, spilling his glupglup tips into a jar by the door. Jerry was cheerier than usual. He must have taken a pill on the way home.

Beth was in the kitchen, making a roast dinner. After four hours of serving weird combinations of ‘authentic Earth cuisine’ to customers, it was nice to come back home to a simple meal. Beth’s back was to Morty as she reached up to get plates from the cupboard.

“Hey mom.”

“Hey sweetie.” She attempted a smile over her shoulder at him. “Do you mind setting the table?”

“Sure.” He took the plates from her, grabbed a handful of cutlery from a drawer. “Uhh, where is Summer?”

“She’s having dinner with friends,” said Beth, attending to a gravy bubbling on the stovetop.

“Oh!” Morty was pleasantly surprised. Summer had been avoiding her friends for way too long. They couldn’t both be friendless. That would make school even more awkward.

* * *

He found it hard to get to sleep that night, even though exhaustion ached his bones. His bedroom curtains were open, letting in starlight. They were far enough in the suburbs that there was no weird alien architecture around, which Morty liked, though there was no telling how long that would last. He stared up at the stars, remembering his trips with Rick; jettisoning off into space for adventures, seeing all kinds of cool things…

Morty stopped himself. He shouldn’t romanticise it.

Sometimes, Rick would wake him up at midnight, drunk and swearing, to drag Morty into whatever trouble he was in and not bring him back until the sun was up the next day. He missed so much school that it was embarrassing; sitting in class and knowing absolutely nothing. On those frequent trips he’d been injured, physically and mentally, on so many occasions that he couldn’t begin to list them without starting to freak out.

Rick never really seemed to care. He’d clearly experienced most of what a person _could_ experience many years ago, and faced most of their trials with barely a raised eyebrow, making fun of Morty. He took frequent swigs of… whatever was in his flask whenever he started getting too sober.

Once, he’d woken Morty up, stinking of alcohol, and rambled for a for a few minutes about what a good kid Morty was. He remembered it all too well, Rick's form silhouetted by the hall light as he sat on the edge of Morty's bed, saying all sorts of nonsense that Morty wasn't even sure he mean - until a look of rage shuttered down over his face.

He'd leapt forward and gripped Morty hard by the back of his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, pressing a knife into Morty's neck; started yelling at him to prove he was real. Morty’s confused screams must have convinced him of his identity, because Rick had abruptly dropped the knife, petted Morty on the head, and passed out right there in his room, sprawled half on the bed, half crumpled to the floor. Morty had to step over his snoring form the next morning to get ready for school.

With a frustrated huff, Morty buried his face into his pillow.

He was stupid to miss Rick. Rick had done nothing but fuck up since he’d come back into their lives, and he’d _changed_ Morty in ways he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but that he knew he didn’t like. Rick got them wrapped up in his fight with the massive, terrifying Galactic Federation, abandoned them on a rock in the middle of nowhere, and he did it all without even apologizing, once, for all his actions. He was a wanted criminal that whole time? And he’d lied to Morty’s face when Morty called him on the ice-cream cover story. He was a lying shitty drunk sociopathic _asshole_ and… and…

Morty missed him so much.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the response to the last chapter! This one is a little longer...

Morty was a little late to History class the next morning, and after an undignified dash through the hallway, he composed himself outside the classroom. Hopefully the teacher wouldn’t be too mad. After catching his breath, he gingerly opened the door. “S-sorry I’m late, Mrs – oh!”

In front of the rapt class, in a modified business suit, a giant insectoid alien stood in front of the projector. He held a pointer in one of his four pincer hands, and had a shiny ‘Federation Educator’ badge pinned to his lapel. Morty could tell the thing was annoyed at him.

“You’re a bit late -” he paused, and tilted his head in unspoken question.

“M-Morty, sir,” stuttered Morty, rubbing his upper arm, nervous at the unexpected alien presence in an otherwise human space. There were two other insect aliens dressed just like the Educator leaning against the wall near the door, close enough to make Morty even more anxious. They stared at Morty with their thousands of tiny red eyes.

“Mimorty,” said the Educator, “please take a seat like the rest of your class. You’ve missed my introduction.” As Morty scurried, blotchy-faced, to take his usual place at the back of the class, the alien continued to address the unusually silent and attentive class. “As I was just saying, I am an Educator from the Galactic Federation. As new members of our little group, we would like to teach you our ways so that you may better fit in. The world will be changing around you! And you’re the new generation, after all!”

Morty scooted into his seat, and after quickly glancing around, folded his arms neatly on the table like everyone else and stared up at the Educator, who was now fiddling with the projector, trying to get it to work.

“Some it may seem a little _weird_ to you guys, but bear with me. We are vastly more advanced than your planet, and there is a lot to catch you up on. Just things we’ve sorted out, societally speaking, that you haven’t quite gotten around to fixing, yet. And I’ll have to disabuse you of some of your own cultural quirks,” the Educator finished, with a little chuckle that turned into a scowl as the projector, ancient technology to him, failed to respond as he needed. “How does this even – Mark, how does this work?” he snapped at one of the lazily staring aliens, who shrugged back at him.

The projector, at that moment, decided to blink to life, displaying a slide against the whiteboard that read ‘The Galactic Federation: Helping You Help Us!’

“Oh, there, never mind. Sorry, kids! Let’s get on with the show.” He tapped his pointer on the whiteboard. “As you know, a few months ago, Earth’s leaders accepted our request to have your little planet join us. I mean,” the Educator chuckled to himself again, smirking at his coworkers, “they kinda _had_ to, or… you know…”

The other aliens sneered at this inside joke that none of the students were privy to. “All those fucking clauses, the shit they signed away” sniggered one of the wall leaners to his buddy. “Crack up!”

As the class stared in growing confusion, the aliens snickered among themselves, and the Educator had to wipe a tear from under his cluster eyes. “Ahh, humans, they make me laugh. So _naive_. Anyway! Sorry, kids.” He waved a hand at them, coughing to hide his sniggers. “Ignore all that. Just a little joke.”

Everyone looked at each other in disbelief, not quite sure what to make of what they’d just seen. Morty furrowed his brows. He remembered Rick ranting about the Federation. Rick tended to rant about a lot of stuff, talking at Morty rather than to him, and at the time, Morty hadn’t known one way or the other about the meaning behind Rick’s words. But after living under the pressure of the Federation for months, nasty thoughts had begun to crystallise in his head about Earth’s predicament.

His perceptions were only strengthened in the slideshow that followed.

The Educator introduced the Galactic Federation, a massive governing body that brought order, civilisation and culture to backwards planets.

Reading between the lines, along with a few of Rick’s throwaway comments, Morty figured it was rather that the Federation strong-armed its way into the governments of small, defenceless planets and ruthlessly extracted their resources - under the guise of bringing them into the fold for safety.

No-one was quite sure how to take the presentation, given by an alien who clearly didn’t think much of the intellect of humans, or his audience. He mocked mankind’s achievements, comparing them to the vastly superior alien technologies available. He sneered at their societal norms, their slow attempts at making progress. It was only when he started bringing up the value of slavery that people were startled out of their stupor.

A student raised his hand in confusion. “How is owning other people– uhhh, _beings_ , a good thing?”

“How is it a bad thing?” countered the Educator.

The student looked briefly at his classmates for support, before muttering something about freedom, and equal rights.

“Oh man,” chuckled the Educator, glancing side-eyed to his co-workers. “What you have there, kid, is a very planetary mindset.” Seeing the insulted look on the student’s face, the Educator raised his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s okay, it’s okay, don’t get upset.”

“I’m not _upset_ , I just—“

“Fixing narrow viewpoints is what I’m here for! To teach you, the _future_ , about thinking big scale!” He stretched out all four of his insect arms, wiggling his pincers. “What drives, uhhh, the galactic _economy_ , huh? Anyone?” He stared around. “Any takers?”

Jessica slowly put up her hand. “Um,” she said sweetly, “the production of… stuff?”

“Yes!” said the Educator enthusiastically, clapping his hands together. “Well done. The production of _stuff._ Now how does stuff get made? You don’t have to answer that.”

A few hands went down. The Educator continued.

“ _People_ make stuff! Or in some cases, make robots that make stuff for them. And people _buy_ this stuff, and that’s what helps the economy stay healthy.” He paused, before staring around meaningfully. “But the problem is, stuff can be _really_ expensive to make. Companies find it hard to make a profit when they are spending all their money on paying their workers unnecessary wages.”

“Unnecessary..?” whispered a few kids to each other.

“Yeah!” said the Educator. “Some low-skilled people don’t even need to bother with wages, and all that… bother! If their employer provides work, food and whatever else for them, then they don’t need wages. All they have to do, is do what they are told, and they get provided for in return!” He raised his hands wide, excitedly. “And the galactic economy booms! Everyone is happy.”

There was an awkward silence. Morty raised his hand, and the Educator pointed at him.

“Yeah, you, Mimorty.”

“Uhh, it’s just Morty.”

“Whatever,” dismissed the Educator, as one of the other aliens muttered to his companion – ‘that name sounds familiar or something…’

“W-what about the people who don’t uhh… don’t _want_ to do the work?”

The class all turned to stare at the Educator, who chuckled, as if Morty was just teasing him. “Now that’s just being silly. Why would they not want to do the work?”

“B-b-because, maybe, I don’t know, they had other plans? Wanted t-to be a … freelancer? Make a little uhh… start-up business with friends? Selling… ummm…”

He trailed off.

“Those people are actively damaging the economy, Morty!” yelped the Educator. “They’re _wantonly_ destroying everything for everyone else around them! You’d understand if you’d listened to the presentation.”

“Told you we should have made it simpler,” snipped one of his co-workers.

“No,” said Morty slowly. “I-I-I… I listened to the presentation. I just…” he bit his lip, a little scared. Everyone was staring at him, and it made his skin feel all pin-prickly. “It sounds to me like… you want us – Earth people, or something, to be the… the slaves? In your economy?”

There was another awkward silence. “You sound really anxious about the prospect, Morty,” said the Educator eventually, in a strange tone of voice.

“W-well, um, yeah!”

The Educator placed his hands on the desk and leant his giant insectoid body towards the class, almost menacingly. “Morty, humor me. What is it you want to do when you grow up?”

“Gosh, I-I uhh, umm,” stuttered Morty. “I don’t know! I’m still thinking about it, I guess.”

“Then why not let the Federation take some of that anxiety away from you, hmm?” The Educator tilted his terrifying head. “Assign you a job perfectly suited to you?”

Morty shivered, unable to answer.

Another kid piped up. “Mr Educator, I want to be a football player. Can I be assigned to be a football player?”

“Ooh!” piped up another. “I want to be a famous actress!”

Everyone started excitedly discussing their perfect job, and the Educator had to shush them. “No, no, no… kids, _listen_.” He shifted in his suit, looking a little uncomfortable, and glanced at his co-workers. Something was exchanged between them, because he turned back to the class with a new authority. “Let me be straight with you. Once the money from this tourism boom dies down, we’re going to shift Earth into becoming a productive member of the Federation. Slowly!” he assured them. “We’ll ease you into it, we know how this works best.” He seemed to stare directly at Morty. “But you _will_ be… eased.”

There was an unspoken ‘or else’, that lingered in the air.

“This is going to happen in your lifetime, so you better prepare yourselves for adaptation. Anyone who fails to do so?” He banged the table, and they all jumped. “Is a threat to our economy, and thus the lives of every citizen of the Federation. And will be _dealt with_ accordingly.”

Morty felt the pit of his stomach drop out, and the rest of his classmates didn’t look too much better. Stupidly, he raised his hand.

“Go ahead,” said the Educator.

Morty stumbled over his words, but he pressed on. “Why can’t we just… uhh… be part of the Federation like the tourists, you know? L-l-like… a normal planet, where none of us are slaves.”

The Educator scratched his forehead, ducking to the side a little. “It’s a little complex, Morty. I’m not sure you would… hm. Okay. Let me say this. We classify planets using a points-based system, to best figure out where you can fit into our Federation—“

Morty figured as such, and spoke up angrily “We’re not as stupid as you think we—“

The response was instant. “Interrupt me again, Morty, and you won’t like the consequences,” growled the Educator. His voice was pure ice.

Why was no-one saying anything? Morty stood up, gesturing around the room. “But this is crazy!” he exclaimed. “Y-y-you—“

One of the aliens jolted up in alarm. “Hey, Boss!”

“Sit down, Morty,” snapped the Educator, whirling to face his co-worker. “What is it?”

“This Morty kid,” started the alien, pointing at the still standing Morty. “I figured out why the name is so familiar. He’s directly related to Rick Sanchez.”

The Educator blinked between the alien and Morty, assessing.

The alien continued. “Specifically, he’s Rick’s grandson, his assistant.”

What followed was a deadly silence.

Morty was too terrified to move, to sit down again. All eyes were on him. The aliens seemed to regard him with a new distaste. His classmates look confused, worried, shocked. Morty just stayed frozen, staring up at the Educator.

“Explains why he’s being such a pest,” muttered the Educator. “Mark him down as a troublemaker.”

“Wait—“ started Morty, fearful.

“Then take him to HQ.”

The two aliens were on Morty before he could blink, towering over him on either side of his desk. The class yelped and shifted away as Morty was swiftly grabbed between the massive insectoids, and easily propelled towards the door.

“P-please put me down!” Morty pleaded. “I-I-I’m sorry! I-I’ll stop saying things!”

He struggled as best he could, but their pincers were inhumanly strong, gripping his arms hard enough to leave marks. His scrabbling feet slipped out from beneath him as he was pulled between rows of desks, under the gaze of horrified students.

“Kids, please note what’s going to happen to your little friend,” said the Educator, as a protesting Morty was aggressively escorted into the hallway. “He’s going in for _re-education_. You know, some things in life aren’t pleasant. But they are necessary. I hope you can all be smarter than Morty, here, and learn to accept your new place in the universe. Else, you know. We’ll make you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things go from bad to worse!

“C-c-can I call my parent’s or something?” Morty asked, buckling his seatbelt conscientiously. The Educator’s assistants had taken him out of the school and forced him into a waiting spacecraft, a small sleek ship with flashing blue lights on the hull, and a Federation logo on the side. The pilot dashed around the ship, doing final checks. There was barely enough room to sit – Morty was sandwiched between the two giant insects, his shoulders squeezed together. He rested his arms awkwardly on his lap.

“I don’t know,” said the assistant to his left, with a snicker at his friend. “Have you got a phone?”

“Yeah,” said Morty shortly. “In… in my schoolbag, in class.”

“Guess you can’t call your parents then.”

Before Morty could reply, the pilot jumped in. “Howdy folks! Hope you’re ready for blast off!”

“Jeez, Perry,” scoffed one the assistants. “How are you this excited every single flight? You’re crazy.”

“Space flight is a wonderful thing, boys,” said the pilot cheerily. “Hold onto your hats!”

And before Morty could even comprehend what was happening, there was a powerful boom. It slammed him into the back of his seat as the ship blasted like it had been catapulted towards the skies, smoke and dust swirling around them before falling away, revealing the bright blue sky.

“Holy _shiiiittt--_!” Morty yelped, before clapping his hands over his mouth. He’d been inaudible over the sound of the engines, as they rushed towards the clouds, through them now, the tiny ship rattling and vibrating as the sky turned bluer, darker, and then –

They’d exited Earth’s atmosphere.

Morty’s favourite view was Earth from above, but he could barely see out of the passenger windows past to the bulk of his captors. Instead he looked forward, out the pilot’s windshield. Ahead of them was the giant space station that belonged to the Galactic Federation. The huge angled structure gently orbited Earth. It had been explained to the humans as a place for tourists to arrive, to see their destination from above, and to do some shopping and eating.

It was also the base of operations for the Galactic Federation in charge of Earth. No doubt once the tourism boom was over, this was where they would be ruled from.

And, apparently, this was the centre for _re-education_. Whatever _that_ what.

It made sense. Vulnerable and off-planet, anyone would be more easily cowed. Reminding people of just how small and pointless they were tended to do that.

* * *

He never even went through the plush area that the tourists got to see. Instead, Morty was taken in through a much more industrial-looking entrance, and after being handcuffed, the two assistants escorted him to where a line of sorry looking aliens and humans were waiting to be put through a whirring black machine by a bored looking wide-faced alien in a labcoat. Morty couldn’t see what happened to them on the other side.

There were guards everywhere, more of the insectoid people, and they leered at Morty.

“Out of the way,” snapped his escorts, pushing Morty to the front of the line. “This one,” they said to the wide-faced alien. “He goes first.”

“Says who?” retorted the alien, with a shrug.

“This is Morty Smith. He’s in trouble, and thus needs to go in for questioning.”

This was met with a blank look. Morty watched the next being in line, a slouched stocky green alien with skin like a toad walk into the blackness of the machine. There was a loud whirring noise.

“He’s Rick’s grandson,” said an assistant, a little more pointedly, shoving Morty forward a little as if to emphasise his point. Morty stumbled, and tried to balance himself with his shackled hands.

The wide-faced alien seemed to light a little. “Oh, right! Excellent,” he said, and stepped to the side, ushering Morty to the front of the line. The assistants made their retreat, eager to get out of the depressing hangar.

“W-w-what is this?” Morty asked, backing away from the looming black entrance. He couldn’t make out anything inside, or where he’d be led to. Would he be led _anywhere_? Or would he just… evaporate? What even was it?

“Security,” replied the alien.

Morty started to tremble. “What’s happening? Where am I going?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” said the alien, with a roll of his widely-spaced eyes, and he shoved Morty forward.

Stumbling in, the blackness covered Morty like a cloak. It was suddenly ice cold, and he heard something whirring. He shuddered, too afraid to move forward, and unable to go back, when there was a click. He almost felt, rather than saw, a door open in front of him.

“Step through,” said a metallic voice.

Morty gingerly moved forwards. Like as he’d walked in, the blackness slipped off of him, and blinked in the light. He was standing at the back of yet another line, behind the slouchy green alien, in what looked like some sort of police station. There was the beep of typing, the shush of automatic doors opening and closing. Through the glass he saw uniformed aliens walking around, carrying equipment, beverages, talking to coworkers. They occasionally peered in at the queue behind the glass.

Annoyed at being gawked at, Morty turned to face the front of the line, only to see a tall grey alien in an even greyer suit walking very determinedly towards him. Another insectoid guard followed him. The line shifted neatly to the side in his wake.

“Morty Smith?” growled the guard, when they neared him.

“Uhhh…” said Morty in reply. “Y-yes?”

“Of course it’s him, you idiot,” snapped the grey alien, in a smooth, cultured voice. He’d placed a long-fingered hand on Morty’s upper back, and gently propelled him past the others in the line.

“Y-you know, uhhh, this all seems a little extreme for talking in class!” stuttered Morty, to no reply. “Umm, w-w-where am I going?” His anxiety had risen high enough to give a fearful lilt to his voice. “How… how long am I here for? I-I-I’ve got… I have to go to work at five…”

“Your workplace has been informed of your absence,” replied the grey alien. “You’ve already been replaced by a similarly qualified classmate. Hey, Darren!”

“Hey boss!” The official standing at the front of the line waved back, then slammed that hand on a button on his booth, opening a door to his side. Morty was pushed through, into another long grey corridor, with multiple doors to each side.

Interrogation rooms.

Morty’s feet skittered as he tried to stop, but the grey alien determinedly pushed him into a vacant room.

It was just like police interrogation rooms back home, Morty supposed. A room harshly lit by a glowing cold bulb, illuminating a metal table with a chair on either side.

“P-p-please…” stuttered Morty, before he trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. The guard shut the door behind him, and leant beside it.

“Take a seat, Morty, if you don't mind,” said the grey alien, in his smooth voice, pulling out the chair for him. Morty gingerly sat down, and the grey alien neatly sat himself across from him, his slitted stone eyes never leaving Morty’s face. He steepled his long fingers. “My name is Keral. I’m an officer for the Galactic Federation, and I’ve been wanting to… talk, with you, for quite some time.”

“That’s, uhh…” said Morty shakily. “C-c-can you take off these handcuffs? They’re kinda heavy…”

“You can start asking for favours once you’ve given us stuff,” snapped the guard.

Keral didn’t answer his question. “When we took your family in, Morty, we had made a promise. This promise was legally binding, and this promise was what protected you.”

Morty blinked, confused. “I-I don’t understand…”

“Let me finish, then,” said the alien quietly. “We know who you are. Your family all have knowledge of Rick Sanchez, but none of them know him like you did. You were his constant companion on every ‘adventure’ he went on. He taught you things, showed you things. Things that would be very _very_ useful to the Federation.”

“Not really,” said Morty. “He… um, I don’t know. He didn’t like me knowing about stuff. Said it would make me cocky.”

“Right,” said Keral, narrowing his eyes. “See, we’ve been questioning Rick, of course. But he’s not answering any of it, no matter the…” he paused delicately, “ _method_ , we use.”

Morty’s eyes widened at the thought, and he shifted uncomfortably in the hard metal seat.

“Whatever, we’d known from the start he’d be uncooperative, even if we underestimated his resilience. But we’d much rather question your family, Morty. Specifically you, of course – due to your relationship with him.”

Keral let out a little sigh, and sat back in the metal chair.

“Unfortunately, one of the conditions your father had for us when he was turning Rick in, was that your family had to be left alone to live a normal life on Earth. Thus, we couldn’t touch you. Any of you.”

“My… father?” asked Morty, confused. Jerry had no access to a phone, nor would he know who to call. Had Rick..?

Keral broke that train of thought. “Then you did us all a huge favour, Morty, and we thank you for it!”

“Truly!” sneered the guard.

“When you got in trouble with the Educator, well! You’d broken our laws, kid. You’d messed up.” A slow smirk spread across Keral’s face. “And we got to bring you in.”


	5. Chapter 5

And all along, Morty had been asking himself: _All this, because he was talking in class?_ Apparently not. It turned out, rather creepily, that the Federation had merely been biding their time. Even from behind bars, or whatever aliens used for bars, Rick still managed to fuck with his life. And this was really, really bad…

Morty’s eyes scrunched up involuntarily, suddenly too wet. His handcuffs jangled as he awkwardly tried to wipe his eyes, face hot with embarrassment, fear. They hadn’t even done anything yet, and Morty was already on the verge of crying.

“Shush,” Keral said, in his smooth voice. A lame attempt at comfort that he no doubt didn’t even mean. The guard just watched impassively. Was this some good cop bad cop stuff? Morty didn’t even know. He couldn’t keep his thoughts straight, as Keral produced a packet of tissues and slid them across the table. “Don’t be afraid, Morty. We know you’re not Rick. I am sure any involvement you had in his crimes, he forced you into, yes? You weren’t an accomplice. You were a victim too, right?”

“R-r-right,” said Morty shakily, his throat too tight. He scrubbed his face with a tissue.

“If you behave, if you do what a good citizen would do and tell us everything about criminal behaviour you witnessed, you can go home. If you give us your full co-operation, Morty, we’ll even scrub that little anarchic outburst you had in class from your records. Give you a nice clean slate. How does that sound?”

Morty blinked. He couldn’t really comprehend how that sounded. After spending all that time with Rick, gaining what could be reasonably called his trust, and then, just… “Aw jeez, I don’t know, M-Mr Keral, I really, I uhhh…” He sniffed, rubbed his nose. “I want to… do the right thing, right, but…” He scrunched up his face and stared at his nervously clasping hands. “He’s my grandpa, y-y-you know?”

“Actually, I don’t know.” If Morty was reading his impassive grey face correctly, Keral was beginning to get impatient. “In my culture, the child kills the parents when they come of age. It’s a proof of strength. So,” he shrugged, “no grandpa.

“Woah, t-that’s like, quite different from, uhhh… Earth culture…”

“You’re a primitive species who place an odd value on loyalty to people with similar genetic sequences. We understand that at the Galactic Federation, Morty, but that please know that my understanding has its _limits_.” Keral leant forward onto his elbows, steepled his fingers, and gave Morty an approximation of a smile. “I do hope that strange loyalty won’t stop you from telling us about Rick Sanchez, else you might not like the consequences.”

Tears started to collect in Morty’s eyes again, and he did his best to blink them away. “C-c-consequences?”

“This is stupid,” interrupted the guard. “We should have started with the electropuncher.”

Morty jittered. “E-e-electropuncher?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Keral re-joined. “He is just a child! There is no need to start _electropunching_ people when a simple conversation will do. Anyway, I can tell Morty will co-operate with us. Won’t you Morty?”

Morty nods feverishly. “I-I-I… I don’t know much. B-but I’ll do my b-best…”

This time it was unmistakable - a smile sliced across Keral’s grey face.

* * *

A secure-looking metal cabinet was wheeled into the interrogation room, and Keral had the key. Inside, Morty immediately recognized Rick’s property. The aliens had confiscated it all before they’d even arrived back to Earth. He took in, with some nervousness, the vast array of obscure gadgets, and swallowed thickly.

One by one, Keral questioned Morty about each invention.

Morty knew very little. Rick never bothered to explain, and he’d get quite agitated whenever Morty displayed too much curiosity about anything sciencey, for some reason. So all Morty could really identify were the inventions Rick had used before in front of him. Some of them were incredibly, obscenely illegal, Keral had told him. Rick’s cobbled together spaceship had been dismantled it was so illegal. Morty just nodded along agreeably, not really understanding anything.

Unfortunately, neither the guard nor Keral believed Morty whenever he claimed ignorance, and they were starting to get antsy.

“I’d tell you if I knew, really! I… I don’t owe Rick shit!” Morty cried out. “He’s an asshole! He… He’s put me through so much… urrghh, I can’t even _think_ about it, just, just, really damaging stuff okay? A-a-and none of it ever affects him! He makes fun of me when I get upset at all the… horrible things he does, and he’s lied to me so many times! Sometimes about really important things! He… he _used_ me!”

 _Human shield._ Morty pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his shackled hands.

“A-a-and, and then, after w-we all agreed to basically give up our _lives_ for him, after we found out he was this… this wanted _terrorist_ , he just… goes and abandons us! A-a-and I knew he was going to go for good, he as good as told me, but there was like… we all hoped, that he… I don’t know, we all just hoped…”

He’d watched Rick leave, sat waiting in the grass like a dog, waiting for him to return. He’d known from the start that it was futile, but when it came to Rick, if there ever was even… a _spark_ , of hope – Morty would cling to it and never let go.

“I-I-I don't owe him shit!” Morty raised his face from his knees to look Keral straight in the eyes. “I'd tell you anything if I knew! I just want… I just want me and… and my parents, and my sister… I just want us to be left alone!”

His voice echoed in the room, faded. Keral stared at him, so utterly alien and perfectly emotionless, apart from seeming a little… disgusted, at such a raw display of human emotion. And that… that was all it took.

Any semblance of Morty’s bravery trailed away from him. He collapsed into his arms on the metal table, amongst the metal gadgets and machines that he didn’t know anything about, doing all he could to not openly weep.

“P-p-please, please, I don’t… I don’t know anything! I-I just want to go _home_ …”

* * *

There was no pity, not that he’d been expecting any. He was dragged from the interrogation room towards some… containment facility, to be kept for a few hours. Keral wanted him to refresh his memory.

“Can I call my parents?” Morty asked his escorts, each who gripped him by the upper arm and walked him to another long windowless corridor. Cells lined either side, but instead of bars, prisoners were kept behind some sort of glowing translucent red force field.

“They’ve been informed,” answered a guard, monotone. They threw Morty in an empty cell, and a red screen flickered to life in front of him.

“Informed of _what_?” Morty asked their retreating backs, to no reply.

He assessed his cell, which was completely bare of furniture, with waxy smooth walls and floors. There was a little divider at the back that had toilet facilities behind it. Was he supposed to sleep here? There were no blankets or anything. Luckily he wasn’t cold.

The red screen colored the corridor outside, and reduced the shape of the prisoner across from him to a red blur. He gingerly reached towards the red screen, hovering his hand just above it. There was a warmth, an electricity. He felt it thrum under his fingers.

The shock from touching it threw him back. He yelped, and he bounced lamely against the divider, brain fuzzy. Defeated, he crumpled there.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in distressing situations before, but … it was different this time. On adventures, he’d always had known, deep down, that if he _really_ wanted to leave, Rick would pull out all the stops to get him home. Right now, more than anything, Morty wanted to turn to a lanky old figure next to him, tug on the white sleeve of a labcoat, and trust that, no matter how bad things got, he could get home.

He remembered all sorts of things. He remembered a collar not working, the floor of the garage giving out beneath him, plunging him into nothingness and Schrodinger’s cats, into non-existence.

And Rick had leaped down after him.

It had just been him and Rick spiraling through blackness, both existing and not existing… and the existing portion was rapidly crumbling around them. And Rick, in that crazy, impossible situation, had gotten Morty home.

It was hard to recall the exact details, and he certainly never prodded Rick about it – but he was so sure… Rick had been willing to sacrifice himself to save Morty.

Was that what he’d done this time? What that whole phone-call thing was about? The pieces fit together, and Morty finally understood. Rick had given himself up to his worst enemies, to keep his family safe.

Morty let out a whimper, crawled into a bundle on the floor. He hid his face in his hands so he didn’t have to see the glowing red screen. He couldn’t wrap his head around his grandpa. Every time he thought he understood Rick, the asshole would go do something that would totally rock Morty’s worldview of everything, and send him back to square one.

“W-why do you make it all so hard?” he whispered, through clenched teeth. “I-I-I wish you were here, Rick. I’ll never be annoying again, I promise. Just, please. Please be here. I’m so scared and I-I…”

He opened his eyes to the smooth nothingness of his cell.

He didn’t know what he’d expected to see. A green portal open up? To see Rick, unchanged, tumble out, swearing and drunk, calling Morty an idiot - rescuing him?

“I bet you’re glad you didn’t tell me anything, huh?” Morty told the wall, his vision hot, blurring. His voice sounded so... so much like a child to himself. “D-d-did you not think I was brave enough? I mean, maybe you were right. I… I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m not more brave.”

And, finally, he started to cry.


	6. Chapter 6

“Beth…” said Jerry nervously, glancing around at the curious students who were spilling out of the school. It was home time.

Beth, deaf to him, marched up the school steps. Fury radiated from her in a clear aura, and any lingering crowds only needed one look to shuffle out of her way. She was terrifying like this, but Jerry could read the tightly wound lines of her body, wrung by exhaustion, frustration. Fear.

“Come _on_ , Jerry,” she ordered, marching straight past the stammering receptionist and towards the school principal’s office. Jerry, afraid of making a scene, scampered neatly behind.

“Sorry! Excuse me,” he muttered to onlookers. He nervously waved to the affronted secretary and pointed at Beth storming ahead of him, miming a jokey ‘oh my god!’ with a nervous laugh. As if his politeness will cancel out Beth’s single minded determinism.

She’d reached the office. “Beth..!” Jerry tried, but it was too late.

Beth threw open the Principal’s door. He’d been sitting at his desk, clicking at his computer, but he looked up at Beth like a rabbit.

“Where,” Beth growled, “is Morty?”

Jerry gingerly stepped in behind her, shutting the door and smiling nervously at the Principal, who stood up, hands raised in a placating gesture. “Ah, Mrs Smith—“

“Where is my _son_?”

“Beth,” Jerry hissed, “maybe this is… I don’t know… maybe we should..?”

She bristled, rounded on him, jabbing a finger in his chest. “Are you serious, Jerry! They’ve taken our son!”

Something of her words seemed to sink in, and her eyes went liquid. Jerry, heart hurting, wanted to hold her, but she pulled away.

“My boy, my only boy…” she whispered, slumping into a seat.

Just a few minutes earlier, back at their home, the phone had rang.

Jerry had been in the lounge reading the newspaper, so Beth got to the phone first. He heard her answer, the silence as she listened, and then… he’d heard her fear, her anger, as she tried to reply to someone who apparently wasn’t listening. Jerry dropped the paper and tiptoed to stand by the door to the kitchen. He watched Beth place the phone back in the stand, pale-faced.

“Who was that?” he asked, in an attempt at a positive voice.

Beth stared at him, through him, expressionless “Some… Federation robot. Automatic call. Inform… informing us that—“ she broke off, raised a hand to her face. “That Morty has been taken to the Galactic Federation HQ in space for _re-education_.”

Jerry swore he felt his heart stop. He had to clutch the door frame. He knew little about re-education, but since working for the Federation, he’d learned that it was something to be avoided. People who attracted the negative attention of the Federation often… disappeared, from work. If they did reappear, they’d lost any individualistic rebellious streak they had.

It hadn’t been a problem for him so far. Jerry wasn’t _smart_ , but he knew when to keep his head down.

Beth… _didn’t_.

She’d stormed towards the driveway, and Jerry had to race up to her. He’d driven them both down to the school, trying to… calm her, but she was a million miles away. His words must have been nothing but white noise.

And now here they were in the office of the ridiculously named school principal, who swayed nervously, wringing his hands and glancing between the woman trembling on the seat, and Jerry standing awkwardly by the door. Jerry stepped forward, put his hand on Beth’s shoulder. She didn’t react.

“Mrs Smith, Mr Smith,” the Principal stammered. “I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what to tell you. We… we had Federation Educators in here today, to teach the students about the new society we are all a part of. Morty got into trouble. Apparently he was expressing ‘dangerous ideas’; or at least, that’s what his Educator told me. They took him right past my office, into a waiting… space vehicle.”

“This is… crazy!” Beth cried out, staring up at both of them, her eyeliner smudging a little. “They can’t just, just… _take_ a kid, can they?”

Her question hung unanswered in the air, but she seemed to have come to a realisation of her own. She finally looked Jerry in the eye and actually saw him, for the first time since she’d gotten the phone call. Jerry squeezed her shoulder.

The Principal said a few pat words. He’ll keep them _fully informed_ , he promised, ushering them out of his office. Re-education only takes a few days at most. They won’t hurt Morty, no. They’ll help him _fit in_. And isn’t that the best for everybody, if they were going to be sharing a planet?

Beth took this all in silently, and followed in Jerry’s wake, back outside. Back in the car, Jerry feared she was far away again, until her eyes meet his. There was a sudden immediacy. He sought out her hand and she didn’t resist as he laced their fingers together.

He was shaking more than she was. Beth was always the braver one.

“I was trying to tell you,” he said gently. “Re-education… I see how it plays out at work, you know? I see certain _troublemakers_ be uhh, taken away, by the Federation. If – no, _when_ they come back, they aren’t… they aren’t the same, Beth.”

Beth looked like she wished she could just wake up. “He’s just a kid. He’s _fourteen_ , Jerry.” Her fingers clasped his, to emphasise her point. “Surely they won’t treat him like he’s some grown worker—“

“I don’t know what they’ll do, Beth. Just… please. I think if there is one thing we can take from this, it’s don’t make a fuss.”

Beth bristled again. “A fuss--!”

“I’m not saying your reaction is wrong!” Jerry hurriedly explained. “But be realistic, Beth. We have no power in this situation. We can only make things _worse_. Morty’s a good kid! They aren’t going to do horrible things to children, okay?”

He… wasn’t a hundred percent on that, but it made _sense_.

They both jumped at a knock on the window. It was Summer, smiling thinly.

“Summer!” they called out, both happy and relieved. Jerry unlocked the back seat and Summer slid in, throwing her bag onto the seat next to her.

“Thought I recognised this car! I’m not going to give up the chance for a ride home.” She bit her lip, looking between them both. “You here about Morty, huh? The whole school is talking about it. What’s going on?”

“Morty will be gone for a few days, Summer,” said Jerry, scratching the back of his head. “He got in a bit of trouble with the Federation…”

“A few days!?” Summer exclaimed.

“Well, they couldn’t give us an _exact_ day, and the Federation hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with details…”

“Apparently he was arguing with the Educator,” said Summer, words tumbling out in a rush. “Those guys are _assholes_ , dad. They want to turn us all into good little workers. It’s _gross_.”

Jerry started the car engine. He wanted to get the remnants of his family home before anyone else got taken away to be re-educated. Did the Federation bug cars..?

“Is Morty okay?” asked Summer.

Jerry peeled them out of the car park. “He will be, I’m sure.”

“You’re _sure_?” Summer scoffed. “How do you know for sure? They took him to space! And you know what? I don’t like the sound of this re-education thing. Any of it.”

“I know for sure because they’re not… jeez, Summer, because they’re not going to hurt a kid!” He glanced at his rear-view mirror. “And put your seat belt on.”

“Oh please.” Summer slumped back on her seat, tugged her belt on. “They’d have been perfectly happy to shoot us all up at the wedding. We’d probably be casualties too, if Grandpa Rick hadn’t gotten us out. I’m starting to think he had the right idea, avoiding these guys. They’re horrible, dad.”

Jerry winced. “Tell me you didn’t say all this at school, Summer…”

“I’m not _Morty_ , Dad. I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

“Birdperson.” Beth stirred from her silence. They both looked at her.

“Birdperson?” Summer asked.

“We… we talked at the wedding.” Beth ran a shaky hand through her hair. “He was a bit, well, _drunk_ , although you wouldn’t have known it by talking to him. I was trying to get to know him, to learn about Dad, and… so on. He kept going on about battles and wars… him and Dad fighting for freedom. I wasn’t really listening at the time, but…” Beth turned to look at them. She looked haunted. “I think… the Galactic Federation. I think they’re not as good as they pretend to be.”

Jerry focused really hard on driving.

“I agree, Mom,” whispered Summer, rapt.

Jerry gave in. “It’s sure starting to seem that way.” He startled as Beth crumpled beside him, her head in her hands. “Beth! Should I pull over?”

“I can’t lose them both, Jerry,” she breathed shakily. “Not both. I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

* * *

The red force field fizzled as it went down, like the sound of sparklers on bonfire night. Morty, startled awake, lifted his head to see uniformed escorts waiting for him in the arch of the door. He awkwardly got to his feet, sore all over from sleeping on the hard floor. He was so tired.

He had no idea how long he’d been in there.

“Am I… a-am I going home?”

The aliens exchanged unreadable glances, before turning back to him. “Not yet,” one answered. “Officer Keral wants to ask you some more questions.”

They were actually the _same_ questions, only just phrased in a deadlier voice. Morty sat on the now lone chair in the middle of the interrogation room as Keral circled him like a shark, demanding answers to questions he had no conceivable answer to. Keral got more and more vicious, and Morty only grew more terrified. He’d make something up if he wasn’t afraid of worse consequences for lying.

Surely lying must be worse than just… not knowing something?

“I’m a busy man, and I’m running out of time,” Keral finally snapped. He leant over Morty in the shair, long-fingered hands grasping the metal frame on either side of Morty’s head. His grey face was so close, Morty could make out the texture of his skin. His eyes had no reflection, but Morty could feel his anger.

He was reminded, suddenly, that this thing had killed its parents.

“Either you stop playing games and tell me what I want to know, or I _promise_ , Morty, you will not enjoy our next meeting.”

“I’mnotplayinggames,” Morty stuttered, mouth tripping over the words, leaning as far back in his chair as physically possible. His shackles clanked in his lap as he twisted backwards.

“What?” Keral growled, only leaning closer. His breath smelt like meat.

“I-I-I’m not… I’m not playing games!”

It was pointless. Even to Morty’s own ears, it sounded like a desperate lie. The room twisted up facts and fiction, and Morty had been interrogated for so long he’d sound like he was lying if he was asked to give his own name.

Keral’s thin lips twitched into a brief snarl, before he abruptly slid up straight and stalked out of the room. The door slammed behind him, a startling clash of metal on metal.

Everything released in Morty. He gasped, breathing deep, shaky breathes, and pulled his knees up to his chest. Clasping his shackled hands around his legs, he buried his face in his knees and silently shook.

He heard background noise. He heard the guard scoff, the door swing open, call for escorts to bring him back to containment. He stumbled more, this time, his feet dragging out from under him each time, like he was boneless, as he was marched back down the grey corridors and all but thrown back in his cell.

“I just... I just want to go _home_ , please, t-tell him,” he begged the impassive aliens, his voice cracking into an embarrassing high pitch, “t-t-tell him that I don’t _know_ anything, p-please..!”

But the red force-field just flickered on in front of him, the thrumming energy lighting up the small cell with a faint warm glow. The red blur of the guards softened, then vanished as they walked away.

Defeated, Morty crawled into a corner of his cell. He couldn’t think. All he saw when he closed his eyes was an endless array of things he couldn’t name, couldn’t even begin to explain.

Sleep came mercifully quickly.

* * *

He was woken by a familiar sound, a gloopy, liquid shimmer, and opened his eyes to see his cell bathed in the green light of a portal. It was so unexpected that it jolted him to alertness immediately. Bolting upright, he rubbed his sore eyes in disbelief, and took in the scene before him.

Silhouetted by the light crouched an all too familiar figure. Tall and scrawny, with wild ashen hair, white labcoat splayed behind him. The green light put flecks in his eyes. He was looking right at Morty.

“R-Rick…?” he stuttered, reaching out trembling hands, his chains clinking. Hope flickered in his chest. Everything else left him. All he remembered was how much he’d missed Rick, lying in his bed and looking up at the stars. Rick, who could be flippant, but who cared for him. Who would always get him home.

Rick tilted his head, serpentine.

Suddenly his hand shot forward, grabbing the length of chain between Morty’s shackles and yanking him close. Morty yelped, stumbling forward and falling hard onto his knees, blinking up at Rick with half blurred vision. Rick stared down at him with alarmingly dead eyes, analysing. Morty’s eyesight adjusted to the light, and he gasped as he saw a scar that slashed over Rick’s mouth.

He remembered that face.

“You--!” he gasped, all hope evaporating as dread bubbled up in his chest, cutting his sentence short. He had a horrible flashback to… hundreds, hundreds of screaming Morty’s, just like him, that were being used like tools to shield this Rick’s presence, his plotting, from the Council of Ricks.

But, no. _Wait…_

“You died!” Morty yelled in confused fear, trying to wriggle back, but this Rick’s grip on his shackles was as strong as the chain itself. He yanked Morty forward with nonchalant ease, like Morty weighed no more than a doll. “I saw you die!” Morty whimpered. “I saw you— _mmph!”_

Morty’s back thudded against Rick’s chest as he was dragged close, and Rick clasped a chemical-rough hand over his mouth. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up, _Morty_ ,” he suggested, with a twisted smirk at Morty’s muffled screams for help. “And stop struggling. There’s nowhere to run to anyway.”

And with that, he leant back, and pulled them both back through the portal.


	7. Chapter 7

The portal felt familiar, a liquid sheet that did not wet him. The air momentarily left his lungs as he slipped through the glowing green, clasped tight to Rick’s chest. They fell through the wall of a darkened space, and thudded to the floor. Lights, activated by motion, flickered on, and Morty squinted as he fought Rick’s grip, too dazed to make out his surroundings. There was a glooping noise as the portal sealed itself behind them.

“Calm down,” Rick was muttering, as Morty struggled furiously in his grasp, screaming into the clammy palm. “Calm down, goddamn, calm _down_ , you little shit. I just fucking _rescued you_.”

Morty twisted and turned, avoiding Rick’s attempts to pin him still to the floor. When he felt Rick’s grip loosen, slightly, he bit down hard on Rick’s hand, that tender slice of flesh between thumb and forefinger. He felt his teeth puncture skin.

“Fuck!” yelped Rick, flinching his hand from Morty’s mouth and rolling off of him, crouching against the wall and cradling his bruising hand. “For Christ’s sake, _Morty_ , you really don’t know a damn thing, do you? I just saved you from some _really_ creative torture sessions, and you go biting me! You should be on your knees thanking me.”

Morty panted on the floor as Rick cussed from the corner of the room, recovering his strength. “I hope you’re bleeding!” he yelled shrilly, pushing himself up. He gripped the edge of an old wooded table and hauled himself to his feet, turning to face the dead-eyed Rick, who was glaring at him from the floor. “Y-you killed all of those… all those Ricks! You… you _imprisoned_ and t-tortured all those… Mortys!”

Rick, his scarred mouth downturned in a scowl, got to his feet, shaking his hand as if to flick off any remnants of pain. He was bleeding a little. His unnerving eyes were fixed on Morty.

“You're _evil!”_ Morty hissed.

Rick did another one of his serpentine head tilts. “Think _your_ Rick isn't evil?”

Morty stared at him, wide-eyed. He blinked, swallowed. “I-I-I don't… how am I supposed to know?! He doesn't… he never tells me anything! Why does he even—“ Morty cut himself off, clutched at his head with his still chained hands. “-it's not fair. _I'm_ the one w-who’s been been kidnapped and, uhh… locked up and interrogated a-and still… and still it's all about _Rick_.”

“They tend to do that,” Rick commented, snide. “Take all the air up in a room, I mean. People always buy into the black hole ego of a Rick.”

Morty lowered his hands to give Rick a confused look. “T-they? What do you mean, they? _You’re_ a Rick.”

“Mm,” replied Rick, raising his brow disdainfully. He raised his hand to his mouth and sucked on the cut, still looking at Morty, deep in thought. There were gears turning there, but Morty had no idea what was going on, still.

“Whatever.” Morty sighed. “I don't want to talk about my Rick anymore. H-he's a real dick.” He leant more heavily on the table, glanced around the room.

They stood in some sort of makeshift laboratory, mostly concrete, with no windows. The table was cluttered with work tools, and around the room were all sorts of… contraptions, labelled boxes, and diagrams detailing schematics Morty couldn’t wrap his head around. There was a ladder against the far wall that led up to a hermetically sealed metal trap door. The lab was in some sort of basement, then. Though on what planet, or in what dimension, Morty had no idea.

The thought chilled him. He anxiously tested his bonds, twisting the chain between his cuffs. Nope, still no give.

Rick brushed past him in a swish of lab coat to dig through a box of jars and bottles on a nearby shelf. He extracted a tube, squeezed some sort of purple gel onto his bite. It sunk into the skin, healing the cut immediately.

“Why did you break me out?” Morty demanded, when it was apparent that Rick was ignoring him.

“Want me to put you back?” Rick retorted.

“N-no...”

“Right.” Rick dropped the tube of purple gel back into the box, and shoved it back into the shelving. “Then be a little more accommodating, yeah?”

Maybe he’d been overreacting. He still had no idea what was going on, although the glowering presence of this evil version of his grandpa put him on edge. “What… what do you want with me?”

That got him a loose-lipped smirk. “That’s more like it, _Morty_.”

Rick paced closer, and Morty retreated back, matching him step for step until his back hit a countertop at the edge of the room. He flinched, raising his shackled hands slightly, frightened of this dead-eyed Rick who had shown no compunction torturing hundreds of Mortys just like him, for a human shield. What _did_ this Rick want from him?

He feared the worst, but Rick just snatched something that looked like a pen from the tabletop, flicked it on with a thumb. A thin blade of yellow laser flamed out.

“W-w-w-wha..!” Morty stuttered, as Rick stepped over. There was no more room to retreat.

“Shut up.” Rick held out a hand, wriggled his fingers. “Gimme a wrist. I _rescued_ you, remember?”

Morty, red-faced, held out his shackled hands. He winced as Rick gently took hold of his hand, turning it palm up. The cuff jostled.

“Hold _very_ still,” murmured Rick, eyes narrowed in concentration. “These Federation cuffs are the fucking worst.”

“Y-yeah, duh,” Morty said shakily, and he gritted his teeth as the laser descended and sparks began to fly. His skin heated under the laser blade, although Rick was surgically precise in avoiding injury. It took a few seconds to cut right through the metal, and then Rick repeated the procedure carefully on Morty’s other cuff. The horrible shackles slipped from his wrists and clunked onto the concrete floor. Rick kicked them away distastefully.

Morty flexed his wrists, rubbed the warm skin. “Thanks,” he said unwillingly, not meeting the dead stare.

“Whatever,” replied Rick. He glanced Morty up and down, frowned, then walked away to sit at the table. “Sit,” he ordered, kicking out the seat next to him.

Morty sat.

Rick lounged down in the chair, long legs crossed at the ankle, and he cocked his head at Morty. “You’ve met the Council of Ricks?”

“Yeah,” fired Morty. “Like, in _chains,_ because of _you_ —“

Rick held a forefinger up to his mouth. “Zip. Let me explain.”

Morty rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, which made the dead-eyed Rick smirk.

“The Council of Ricks are overly-frightened cultish freaks, Morty; I agree with your Rick on that. But they really want him, for whatever lame reason.” He shrugged. “Always have. Probably because your Rick made a real stink about not wanting to join, Morty. Made it all a _huge_ deal. It’s a pride thing, now. They want him to join real bad, just to make a… a point.” Rick waved his hands at the ceiling lights. “Whatever. Don’t care.”

Morty pursed his lips. “Uhuh.”

Rick ignored him. “The important thing is, the Council saw _opportunity_ when the Galactic Federation locked up your Rick. He’s got nowhere to go now, except the Council he turned his back on. And you know what, I bet they _really_ wanna see that motherfucker swallow humble pie and beg for mercy, Morty.” He gave Morty a self-satisfied grin, scar stretching over his lips. “Actually, I don’t have to bet anything. They’ve already said it. They want your Rick delivered to them. And they’d pay a lot.”

“I-in… uh, money?” Morty asked, confused.

“You’re thinking too small-term, Morty!” exclaimed Rick. “Expand that little mind of yours. For all their flaws, the Council hold a lot of power. They’re all dimension hopping geniuses; saviours and destroyers of worlds. Even for an unmatched genius like myself, it’s been hard staying off their radar. They want me bad, too. Wanna bring me to justice.”

“For _murder_ ,” said Morty.

Rick scoffed. “Well, _you’ve_ murdered, Morty,” he remarked, making Morty wince, “but are they going to hunt you down? Haul you in? Nah, they won’t sentence _you_ to the machine. The Council only cares about murder when the victim is a _Rick_. Which, as you know, is a kind of murder I am very, _very_ guilty of.”

Morty shuddered. He didn’t have to be reminded. All those photos of murdered Ricks gotten under his skin. “You don’t want money,” he tried again. “You want… freedom?”

“If I deliver your Rick to the Council, they’ll acquit me of… of everything I ask. Brush it all under the rug, like good little bureaucrats. The world will open up for me again, Morty! I’ll be free of—“ he waves his hand distastefully around the concrete basement, “—this.”

His story made sense, but Morty wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him. Part of it was seeing someone the spit of his grandpa sitting across from him under the bright lab lighting, grinning at him. Morty, despite his better judgement at times, naturally found himself going along with whatever Rick wanted. But this one? He was evil, Morty had seen his handiwork, enough to give him nightmares. And…

Morty crinkled his brows. Something was missing.

Now that he was calmer he remembered, after the 'adventure' escaping from the Council of Ricks, and _this_ Rick...

It had been all the suffering Mortys, or something. Seeing hundreds just like him in never-ending pain... the sight of it had stayed on his mind, marked him permanently. Everything had changed, after that. And Rick's throwaway comment about jumper cables had riled him. Frightened him.

It had been a few days after, when Rick had dragged him to the garage for his help constructing a weird sort of scanner for his ship. He'd noticed Morty's unusual hesitance, and squinted at him thoughtfully.

“Wha-what is it, Morty? You’ve been acting _real_ odd. Something on your mind?”

Morty had gripped his upper arm protectively. “L-like you care about the… about the thoughts of your human shield,” he bit out.

Rick had rolled his eyes, sat down at his desk. “Wasn’t a rhetorical question, _Morty_. Spill.”

Morty only fidgeted under Rick’s glare. “It… it was about that… evil Rick,” he eventually admitted. “Doing all that… _stuff_ , t-to those Mortys.”

“Thought so.” Rick kicked back in his chair. “Got you questioning your old grandpa, huh? Really opens up the universe, doesn’t it. Seeing something like that – all these kids just like you being tortured over and over, by one of me. Makes you suspect everything, doesn’t it Morty? I get it. I get it…”

Morty had just grimaced at the floor.

“I was curious too.” Rick retrieved his flask from his inside pocket and took a swig. “Wanted to know about the _bastard_ who tried to frame me.”

It turned out that Rick had talked to a few others from the Council; wanting, as ever, to learn about his enemies. It had turned out that the evil Rick hadn’t been acting of his own free will at all. He’d been a puppet, dancing to the commands sent to the wires in his brain from a still undiscovered transmitter…

Morty shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. “H-hang on,” he stammered, embarrassed at how slow he was. “W-weren’t you… uhh… being mind-controlled by someone else or … or something?”

Silence. Rick examined him with those dead eyes, and then quirked his lip, gaze settling somewhere behind Morty. There was a tap on his shoulder, and Morty nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around with a high-pitched yelp, to see… himself?

“Y-you..!”

It _was_ himself, down to the clothes, the ruffled hair. But this Morty had a patch over his right eye, and a deep, wickedly clever stare that was a lot older than any fourteen-year-old’s had a right to be. He didn’t smile, exactly, but Morty saw the twitches of a smirk at the corners of his mouth. A predator’s half-smirk upon spotting prey.

“Yes,” said Rick, and Morty whipped around again to see the dead-eyed Rick give him a little wave. “Me.”

“H-huh?” whimpered Morty, clutching the table in front of him. His head swam. He jumped again, as the other Morty leant close to his ear.

“I’m the one controlling him.”

Morty gulped. He watched, agog, as his image walked over to Rick and gripped him by the chin, forcing the head up to look at him, peering intently into the dead eyes like how a programmer might examine code. Rick let himself be manhandled, starting back peacefully. He seemed to completely trust this Morty.

“After my other Rick was killed, it was a devil trying to find a new one,” muttered the other Morty, tilting Rick’s head this way and that. “But this one’s good. Behaves.” He dropped Rick’s chin. Rick’s eyes seemed to flicker from some sort of internal stimuli, and he suddenly slapped himself in the face, hard, wincing. The other Morty turned back, self-satisfied. “See?” he grinned, as Rick rubbed absent-mindedly at his cheek. “Rick’s never suspect a Morty. It’s how I’ve evaded them for so long.”

“Y-you… but you imprisoned and t-tortured… other Mortys?” Morty shook his head, horrified. “H-how c-c-could you do that to… to yourself!”

The other Morty waved a hand. “It’s hard to survive when everything in existence is dominated by Ricks. We have very little power as Mortys, you realise. Sacrifices had to be made.”

“Sacrifices!?” shouted Morty, anger bubbling up.

Rick listened intently, his blank eyes following the other Morty he started to pace in front of the table, staring down at them both like some sort of authority figure. “Listen, Morty. I’m not asking you to be my friend. I’m not even asking you to like me. I just want your help in rescuing your Rick, so the Council stops… stops hunting me.” He halted, gaze dropping to his feet. “It’s all… it’s all spiralled out of control,” he said, quieter now. “All of it. I don’t want to be doing this, Morty. I just want to be free, and be allowed to live out my life _normally_ , in a dimension with no damn _Ricks_.”

Morty found that, despite himself, he understood. “What do you need _me_ for?” he asked.

“I can’t tell you,” muttered the other Morty, fierce eye meeting his own, that unnerving uncanny valley of a face the image of Morty’s, but so utterly different. “It would ruin the plan. But you are _essential_. That’s why I rescued you from the Federation.”

He walked around to Morty’s side of the table, serious. Morty’s throat felt dry. “But I…” he started, then immediately stopped as the other Morty put a hand on his shoulder.

Their faces were inches apart. “Help me free your grandpa, Morty. That’s all I ask. Then you’ll never hear from me again.” The single eye Morty could see narrowed slightly. “I _promise_.”

He looked so earnest. “Alright,” sighed Morty, defeated. “I’ll help.”


	8. Chapter 8

Beth slept lightly these days, if at all. She lay in bed, fiddling with the blankets, too tense to drift off. Jerry snored gently beside her, his comforting warmth at her back. She hated him a little, for that, for not being awake with worry about what could be happening to her son. It felt stupidly selfish, but she still felt it.

Lights glowed from outside the bedroom window, probably a car driving home. Beth squinted at the clock on the bedside table – it was 2AM.

“Ughh…” she moaned, burying her face into her pillow. This was one of those nights where sleep was impossible. Not only had the Federation taken away her father and turned her planet in to some amusement park – now they’d abducted her son, too. She twisted to glare at the curtains. The lights outside the window had not gone away. If anything, it seemed brighter out there.

The sharp knock on the front door jolted her fully awake.

“Jerry!” she hissed, shaking his shoulder. Jerry grumbled, face crumpled up, and tried to turn away. “Wake up, Jerry!”

“Uhmm?” groaned Jerry, blinking slowly. Beth flicked on the bedside lights, making him whine and cover his face.

“Jerry, get up _now_.”

The knock on the door was louder this time, more like a banging. Beth leaped out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown, tying it tightly around her waist. Jerry followed suit, though slower, rubbing his face, trying to wake himself up. He followed her out their room with clumsy footsteps.

“Mom? Dad?” Summer was peeking her head out of her bedroom, eyes wide. “What’s going on?”

“Stay in your room, honey,” Beth started, but Summer had already slipped out to follow them downstairs, clinging her dressing gown around her.

“No way, Mom. I want to know what’s going on.”

“Listen to your mother, Summer,” Jerry reproached her, half-heartedly, but Summer stubbornly followed them to the front door. The lights outside were coming from vehicles that were right outside their home.

Through the frosted glass of the front door, they saw the silhouette of an unnaturally tall figure.

“I think this is about _Morty_ ,” Summer whispered, but Beth shushed her with a warning look. She looked over to Jerry, who stared back, fear evident in his eyes. Then she turned to open the door.

The lights from the futuristic vehicles outside momentarily stunned her, and she had to strain to see to see the alien on her doorstep. He was tall and grey-skinned, with stone eyes and thin lips that were almost smiling. He was flanked on either side by insectoid guards in body armour, the Galactic Federation logo stamped on their uniforms.

“Mrs Smith,” the grey alien said, in the most polite of tones. “My name is Keral. I am an officer for the Galactic Federation. I apologise for waking your family at such an odd hour, but there has been… a troubling development.”

_Morty_ , thought Beth, her mind instantly filling with all sorts of terrible scenarios. They had come to say that Morty had been grievously injured, that he’d been killed, that he’d been found guilty of some new crime and would never come back home. She clutched at the door, to help her stand straighter. Keral noticed. He had a predator sort of speed to his reactions.

“May I come in?” he asked, already moving forward. “Wait outside,” he instructed his guards.

The family sat around the dining room table in their pyjamas, sleepy eyed and vulnerable. Jerry sat at Beth’s side, mostly looking at the tablecloth. Summer looked like she wished she’d stayed in her room. Keral loomed over them all, dressed in a steel-grey suit that almost matched his skin, and he put Beth on edge. For all his apparent politeness, he’d still woken them at an unnatural time, with armed guards, and forced his way into their home.

Keral steepled his fingers. “I have disappointing news. I hope to have your full co-operation in this matter.” He let out a low sigh. “Your son, Morty Smith… he’s somehow managed to escape from our containment facilities.”

Beth let out a gasp, clutching Jerry’s hand. _Morty._ Summer silently covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide.

“This has never happened before,” Keral continued. “In my entire time working for the Federation, no prisoner has managed to escape containment. Obviously, we are all a little curious as to how he could have managed it.” He peered at them each in turn.

Jerry jittered. “Where is… where is our son now?” He asked, after clearing his throat nervously.

Keral’s head whipped around to stare directly at Jerry, who shrank back. “You are saying you have no idea where he is?”

“N-no idea…” said Jerry, in a much smaller voice.

“That’s very interesting,” said Keral. The polite tone had been abandoned. “See, if _I_ was a fourteen year old human who somehow managed to escape Federation containment, I’d head straight back home. Hm? In fact, I don’t think I’d be _able_ to escape without family help.”

“W-w-we… w-we…” Jerry stuttered uselessly, stopping when Beth squeezed his hand.

“Morty isn’t here,” Beth said. “We haven’t seen him since we sent him off to school the day he was… arrested.”

Keral turned on his heel abruptly, and started pacing around the dining room. “Mrs Smith… we’ve stripped your father’s room and makeshift laboratory already, of course, but perhaps we missed something. Some sort of device that one of you might have used to spring your son from jail.” His head was darting around like he expected to see Morty hiding in a dark corner somewhere.

“T-there’s nothing left of my father, here,” Beth tried to assure him. She’d often wished there _had_ been.

“She’s not lying, sir,” Summer peeped in agreement. Jerry nodded earnestly along.

“Mm.” Keral halted his pacing. “Then I don’t suppose you’d mind us having a look around?”

It was phrased as a question, but Beth knew already that it was an inevitability. Jerry dropped his head, staring at the table. Summer looked so frightened; Beth wanted to rush to her, comfort her. Instead, she nodded at Keral.

Keral gave her a thin lipped smile, then raised his wrist to his mouth. “Send in the search team,” he ordered.

It all happened very quickly.

The family sat, shaken, in the dining room, as a swarm of uniformed aliens wrecked through their house. They pulled the scant remains of Rick’s garage laboratory apart. They tipped furniture, emptied cupboards onto the floor. A team of them rushed upstairs, their footsteps stomping loudly over the ceiling, and Beth flinched at every crash and thud.

Summer pulled her knees to her chest, eyes wet with tears. Jerry sat as still as a statue, his face crumpled, miserable, hands fisted into the tablecloth. Amid all the destruction, Keral gracefully smoothed down his suit and sat himself opposite them, soaking in their reactions.

Was… was he enjoying this?

The Federation had turned their entire house upside-down before they begrudgingly admitted defeat, unable to find anything remotely suspicious. Beth could read something like disappointment flash across Keral’s face, but he didn’t voice anything, merely gesturing for the search team to leave. He stood, hands on hips, and with a deep inhale, looked around the ruined house.

“I’m glad you told the truth,” Keral said eventually. “You’re a charming family. I’d have hated to interrogate you.”

None of them replied. Beth felt… boneless. Out the window, she could see the aliens bundling into their vehicles and speeding away from the scene.

“I apologise for the mess. I hope you understand – we had to be _sure_ ,” Keral continued, striding towards the front door. “I’ll have my office send someone down for repairs...” he waved a hand, not even looking at them, “sometime this week.”

The door slammed shut behind him, the impact causing a picture frame to fall from the wall and smash to the floor. Through the window, they watched Keral fold himself into a sleek Federation ship and blast off towards the city.

The air seemed to come back into the room. Summer let out a shaky gasp, and buried her head in her knees, finally letting her tears fall. Jerry’s shoulders were shaking, and he was mouthing something under his breath. Beth put a hand on his back, and he jolted upright, meeting her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he kept muttering. “I’m sorry.”

_Please let Morty be safe_ , Beth thought feverishly, rubbing circles on Jerry’s spine as he slumped on the dining table. _Please let him be okay. Please._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Smith family! Find out what happens to Morty... next chapter!


	9. Chapter 9

Like he was trapped in some lucid dream, Morty followed his double and the scarred Rick to the ladder. Rick went up first, producing a key that unlocked the trapdoor, and he pushed it up and open. It thudded on the ground outside, raising a cloud of dirt or dust. There were artificial lights up there, too.

The other Morty flashed him a meaningful look through his single visible eye, and then followed Rick up the ladder. Rick was conscientious enough to reach back down and help the other Morty through, in a way that a real Rick probably wouldn’t ever think to do. He only let go when the other Morty was safely standing above ground. There was a look of… care? Or an almost slavish devotion as he looked at his controller, that Morty wasn’t sure was real or enforced.

The whole thing made him a bit queasy.

He scrubbed at his face with his hand and scaled up the ladder himself. Peeking through the trapdoor, he could make out that he was in some sort of cramped hangar. A small spacecraft about the size for three or four people was in the centre, and it looked worryingly hand-built, like Rick’s had. Apart from, that, the space was mostly bare, a few boxes of materials, and some computer tech, currently powered down, in the corner.

“Come on, Morty.”

The scarred Rick squatted down at the edge, holding his hand out to Morty, blank-eyed. Morty ignored the hand. “I’m _fine_ ,” he hissed, hoisting himself out of the trapdoor, upper arms straining.

Rick scoffed. “Suit yourself,” he replied with a shrug, standing and turning to watch the other Morty do checks on the spaceship. He strode over to help.

Morty scowled at his retreating back. With an inhale, he strained his tired muscles, hooking a leg over the edge of the hole so he could haul himself up and out. _There_ , he thought, satisfied. He struggled to his feet, brushing off his jeans, and took a closer look at his surroundings. It was even colder in the hangar. He wished he had more than a t-shirt.

A whirring mechanical noise behind him had him jump and spin around – the metal door to the hangar slid open, slowly revealing a flat dusty alien landscape that stretched, empty, to the horizon, a massive orange sun hanging low in the sky.

He had no idea where he was, still. Just not on Earth.

The ship sputtered and started running, vibrating through the cramped space. The other Morty was at the wheel, glaring out the windshield at him. “Get in!” he ordered. Rick had already clambered in, settling into the back seat. It looked like Morty would get to ride shotgun.

Inside, the fact that the ship was constructed by hand became even more obvious. He could see the welding marks in the metal sheeting, the mismatched interior, like his grandpa’s ship. His hand automatically went for the seatbelt, but grasped thin air. There was nothing there.

“S-seat belt?” he asked the other Morty, a little nervously.

“Well, didn’t your Rick _spoil_ you,” the other Morty snarked. He was in profile, flicking on various switches, turning dials. From this angle, Morty could only see his eyepatch. “Don’t be a baby. I’m not gonna crash.”

It didn’t exactly do much to ease Morty’s nerves.

The ship jittered, dust spiralling up from the floor. As Morty pushed forward on the joystick, it smoothly rose, and cruised out of the hangar. The world opened up around him, and Morty pressed himself to the glass to take it all in – a featureless desert planet, only dust and rocks for as far as the eye could see, stretching in all directions beneath the darkening sky. Stars twinkled overheard as the orange sun slipped low, casting long shadows.

“W-what _is_ this place?”

“I’ll tell you what it is, it’s off the Federation grid, _Morty_ ,” Rick replied from behind him, close enough to make Morty jump in his seat. “Nothing here for light-year’s around.”

“Nothing sentient anyway,” the other Morty added. He scowled at Morty. “Sit back, dumbass, unless you want to smack your head against the window. And I need you conscious for this.”

Morty sat back with a huff. “Y-yeah, whatever. Maybe you can, I-I don’t know, tell me w-what this _plan_ wa—ahh!”

The ship abruptly shot up, rattling violently. The dusty landscape fell down, the horizon rounded off, and then Morty could see the whole planet beneath them, cold and empty, circling a dim sun. _Nowhere_.

“Say goodbye,” remarked the other Morty, and then he shoved forward on the joystick. The stars blurred around them as they jumped into accelerated space travel.

“Y-you know… you know how to make c-concentrated dark matter?” Morty yelped, clutching his seat as the ship shuddered around them, making alarming clattering noises. God, he hoped this thing could hold together.

“It was one of the first things he taught me,” replied the other Morty grimly.

“ _Who?_ ”

The other Morty turned, his single visible eye glaring at him darkly. “ _My_ Rick.”

* * *

The journey to… _wherever_ , was extremely long, even travelling as fast as physically possible. Morty slumped, tired, in his seat. He wanted to go home, to see his family, to have a shower and scrub all the prison smell off him, to crawl into bed and get an early night’s sleep in his own bed. The whole thing felt like a nightmare anyway.

Life hadn’t felt real since… since the wedding.

The stars blurred outside his window, glowing white lines that dashed, dizzying, past his vision. Beside him, the other Morty silently drove them forward. He looked tired, too, although he had this ageless, enduring aura about him that Morty himself just… lacked. Like his double could just keep going, _would_ just keep going, until he got what he wanted.

This was the kid who had killed Ricks, who had imprisoned and tortured hundreds of his own image. He was unpredictable. Whatever he _wanted_ was a complete mystery.

Would the Council of Ricks really free someone like him, just for Morty’s grandpa?

Probably best not to press him on that.

“Hey man,” he said eventually, to break the silence more than anything. “Can’t we just portal there, or something?”

The other Rick made a scoffing noise from the back seat. “We’re going to one of the most tightly controlled sectors in the universe, Morty, you idiot. Shooting a portal in there is just going to light up a giant green arrow pointing riiiiight at us.”

“We’re nearly there anyway. And my portal gun has limited charge,” the other Morty added. He bristled, a bit. “I… we haven’t got the components to refuel it.”

Morty raised his eyebrows, frightened. “H-h-how many jumps have… have you got?”

“I… I don’t know. One or two. I knew I had enough to get you, and I know there’s enough to get us out of there, worst comes to worst.” His shoulders tensed. “But I really don’t want it to come to that.”

“What is _there_?” Morty asked, sick of being in the dark.

“Intergalactic space prison, _duh_ ” drawled Rick, and Morty twisted to look at him. “Yeah, kid, right where they took your Rick. He’s chilling out in maximum security right now. Hopefully still, you know,” he wiggled a hand at his temple, “all _there_.”

Morty bit his lip, remembering Keral, his threats of torture.

Rick shuffled in his labcoat for a flask, some unthinking automatic reaction, but he retracted his hand once he realised what he was doing, empty-handed. Morty still hadn’t figured how much of this Rick was himself, and how much was under the control of the other Morty.

“You don’t let him drink?” he asked the other Morty, curious.

“I don’t need him drunk.” The other Morty’s hand clenched on the joystick. “I don’t _like_ him drunk. Makes him less useful if he’s stumbling around, all paranoid.”

Rick shrugged his shoulders at Morty. “I’m just drowning out my inner pain anyway,” he sneered, and again, Morty couldn’t tell if _he_ was saying it, or if he was just being puppeteered.

“H-hey man, that’s… that’s a little, I don’t know… creepy?” he stuttered, but the other Morty just laughed at him

“It's painless. He's having a much better time than if he had complete free will. Ricks are miserable on their own anyway - wait—“

The other Morty crouched forward, flicking a few switches and easing back on the controls. The lines became stars as they slowed to normal speed. Out the window, Morty saw ship’s shell flicker, then disappear, as they went into some sort of stealth mode. The other Morty had a grin creeping up his face, as he gazed out the windshield. Morty glanced over too, and his jaw dropped open.

“H-h-holy crap!” he stuttered, straining his eyes at the humongous sharply angled structure, like a grotesque hive, floating in the blackspace. Everything was harsh lines in dark greens and reds. As they drifted closer, the prison, immense, quickly took up the whole of the windshield. Glowing rectangular spacecrafts flew in and out, probably carrying prisoners. There were little ships too, much like their own, that orbited the prison as guards.

“Feast your eyes, _Morty_.” There was a ruffle of labcoat as the scarred Rick leant forward, slapping a hand on each of the headrests. His eyes were lit up. “Drink in the visuals – the Galactic Federation’s very own ultramax-security penitentiary, for the very worst in the universe.”

Morty gulped. He knew Rick had been locked away, but in all his restless, worried nights, he could never have come up with… _this_.

He’d said a lot of things before Rick had abandoned them, and he… he was sure he stood by them. He still hadn’t forgiven Rick for leaving. But that hadn’t stopped his life from feeling so... empty, without him. Rick had shoved his way into Morty’s life, and when he’d left, he’d ripped a hole straight through him. Morty still… hurt, from it. Everything about Rick was still raw – it hurt just to think about him, like touching a tender wound.

“I hope he’s okay,” Morty muttered under his breath, ducking his head, clasping his hands together tightly. He hoped the other two hadn’t noticed how dangerously wet his eyes were.


End file.
